The Templar Heresy

by James Becker

  As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered. Because they were leaving the country, the Israeli border guards were indifferent, and as soon as Bronson and Angela showed their British passports and confirmed that they were tourists on holiday, the Jordanians waved them on with a minimum of formalities.

  There was still quite a lot of traffic on the road because in a few miles it linked up with one of the main routes leading to Amman, the Jordanian capital. Shortly before they reached a development called Al Khersee, Bronson turned right and then right again, following the signs towards the Dead Sea.

  He was still trying to make sure that nobody was following them, but in practice this proved impossible. There was considerable traffic in both directions, making overtaking a risky business that few of the drivers appeared to want to try, with the result that Bronson and Angela’s car was just one vehicle in a kind of loose convoy of cars and trucks heading south.

  But as they approached the northern end of the Dead Sea, that situation changed when they joined a dual carriageway and the faster drivers were finally able to overtake the slower vehicles. Bronson didn’t accelerate, because he thought there was more chance of spotting a vehicle following them if he kept his speed down, although that didn’t really work either, because he could still see about a dozen vehicles in his mirrors.

  And then they saw the brilliant blue waters of the Dead Sea over to their right, the cobalt shade a stark contrast to the burnt brown of the desert and low hills that surrounded the landlocked lake, and Bronson involuntarily eased up even more on the accelerator pedal.

  ‘Wow. That really is quite beautiful,’ Angela said, staring through the windscreen. ‘Beautiful, but implacably hostile to almost all forms of life, apart from a handful of microscopic bugs, which proves that life can and will exist just about anywhere.’

  ‘It’s the lowest water surface on Earth,’ Bronson said, dredging some obsolete information from his memory banks, ‘about fourteen hundred feet below sea level, if my memory serves me correctly, and nine times more salty than any ocean. I remember seeing pictures of people lying on the surface reading newspapers and books because it’s so buoyant. Swimming in it, or trying to swim in it, must be a strange sensation – a bit like swimming in soup.’

  The road swung gently to the right to follow the shoreline of the Dead Sea.

  ‘According to this map,’ Angela said, ‘the road stays right beside it pretty much all the way down, and there’s no point in us going cross-country until we’re a few miles south of it.’

  She looked again towards the shimmering waters.

  ‘It’s amazing how often the name of this body of poisonous and lifeless water crops up in archaeology,’ she said. ‘I mean, almost everybody must have heard of the Dead Sea Scrolls that were recovered from Khirbat Qumrān, and the lake has a very close association with biblical history. Plus, of course, it’s also believed to be the location of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. They were supposed to have been destroyed by a rain of brimstone and earthquakes, and the remains of both are thought to be at the bottom of the Dead Sea. If you believe that kind of thing, that is.’

  The Dead Sea was clearly a popular attraction, because they passed a number of cars parked near the water’s edge. Children and adults could be seen in the water itself, and in one or two places men were working in the shallows with shovels and large buckets. Bronson glanced across at them and pointed an interrogative finger.

  ‘What are they doing?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re probably collecting salt. There’s such a high concentration in the water that you can just shovel it up in the shallows. They extract a lot of other stuff from it as well, things like potash, gypsum and bromine, so it’s quite an important local resource.’

  For about thirty miles the road stayed very close to the edge of the water. Then the body of water began to narrow and for roughly ten miles the road continued south through a harsh desert landscape before once again meeting the eastern shore of the Dead Sea, the part of it that consisted largely of potash solar evaporation pans, before the lake finally disappeared from view.

  Without the illusory benefit of the blue waters to the west, the terrain appeared less forgiving and more hostile. The road ran straight for much of the time, but occasionally diverted around a large hill or other feature of the landscape. On either side of the road the ground was largely flat, even in the clefts and valleys that snaked between the craggy hills that bordered the highway.

  ‘You need to look for a left turn,’ said Angela. ‘The place we have to head towards is called Al Tafile.’

  Bronson drove past a settlement on the right and then another on the left called Al Maamura, and then saw the junction right in front of them. The volume of traffic had diminished significantly after they’d cleared the southern edge of the Dead Sea, and there were even fewer vehicles on route 60, the road that they were now on, but there were still at least two trucks and nearly a dozen cars behind the hired Renault. There were so few roads in that part of Jordan, he realized, that there would inevitably be a large volume of traffic on every road, probably for most of the time.

  This road was noticeably narrower than the one they had just left, the surface poorer, and the terrain even more unforgiving, the hills and valleys not permitting a straight course to be followed. As it climbed and descended significant heights, there were a few hairpin bends to be carefully negotiated before the road finally straightened out towards a settlement called Arfah.

  ‘Al Tafile is over to the east,’ Angela said. ‘Just follow this road until you reach a Y-junction, then bear right. It’s a new road, the King’s Highway, and it’s one of the main routes out of Aqaba on the coast up to Amman. Hopefully it’ll be a bit better than that last stretch we were on.’

  The road was better, and also much busier, and Bronson again found himself part of a loose convoy of vehicles all heading south at about the same speed. They passed through or close by a number of dusty settlements, while the hills on both sides of the highway were characterized by their rugged and uneven flanks, many of them reaching quite impressive heights.

  After a few miles, the road straightened out and they left the small towns and villages behind, the only obvious signs of life then being the occasional Bedouin encampment, the infrequent petrol stations, usually attached to small cafés, and the even less frequent sight of a man on a camel or a shepherd surrounded by the sheep or goats that were in his charge.

  The road gradually swung around towards the west, and when Angela spotted a sign for a village called Al Muthallith, she checked the map again.

  ‘We’re getting fairly close to the castle now,’ she said. ‘There’s a right turn at the other end of this village.’

  The village was busy and the road congested, cars parked somewhat haphazardly and locals wandering about apparently oblivious to the vehicles passing in both directions.

  ‘That’s it,’ Angela said, pointing straight ahead towards a narrow road that angled off the main street.

  Bronson took the turning, and immediately they started to climb, the road rising quickly above the settlement that they had just left.

  Within a couple of minutes, Angela pointed over to the east, to where an ancient grey-brown stone structure crowned the crest of a substantial hill.

  ‘There it is,’ she said. ‘That’s Shobak Castle.’

  The road didn’t really go anywhere else apart from the castle, and as they descended the hill they saw the visitor centre on the left-hand side of the road, where Bronson pulled in and parked the Renault.

  There were already half a dozen cars and a coach – all empty – in the parking area, and when they climbed out of the vehicle they could see people milling about in the courtyard of the visitor centre, some holding guidebooks and cameras, others sipping drinks. Beyond the visitor centre, the castle itself and the approach road to it were both clearly visible, as were several groups climbing up to the castle or descending from it.

  ‘Here’
s where we do our impersonations of tourists, I suppose,’ Bronson said, opening the boot of the hire car. ‘Just stand in front of me,’ he added, ‘while I grab the pistol.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ Angela asked. ‘We’re just a couple of visitors taking a look at an ancient ruin. Surely you don’t think we’ll have any problems here? I thought nobody followed us from Jerusalem.’

  ‘I can’t see how they can be here already,’ he agreed, ‘but just because I didn’t spot anybody following us, that doesn’t mean that they didn’t. There was so much traffic behind us on that road that there could have been half a dozen cars tailing us, and I wouldn’t necessarily have been able to spot a single one of them. So, yes, I do think taking the pistol with us is a sensible precaution. Let’s just hope we don’t need it.’

  He recovered the weapon from its hiding place and slipped it into the rear waistband of his trousers, ensuring that his light jacket covered it completely. Angela picked up her camera and a spare battery pack, while Bronson took two small but powerful flashlights from his overnight case and half a dozen spare batteries. Then they headed towards the castle.

  53

  Shobak Castle, Jordan

  With the motorbike tailing the car, Farooq hadn’t found it a problem to follow Angela and Bronson all the way to the castle.

  He was now using a pair of powerful compact binoculars to watch them, and was relaying what he saw to Khaled, sitting beside him.

  ‘He’s locked the car,’ he said, his voice sounding puzzled, ‘and they’re walking over to the visitor centre. It looks as if they’re going to explore the ruins. But you told me that this wasn’t a Templar castle, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did and it wasn’t,’ Khaled snapped. ‘It was a Crusader fort, and at no time did any Templar knight even visit the place. But we’re not looking for a Templar knight, and whatever clue those two think they might find here must have been left by somebody else. It doesn’t matter who was involved back in the Middle Ages. The point is that the only reason Bronson and the woman could possibly have for being here is because they discovered some pointer or clue that we missed in Jerusalem. So what we have to do is find it, and the easiest way to do that is to follow them and see what they look at.’

  ‘So what we do now? Are you sure they’re not just here to look around? As tourists?’

  ‘No. I can promise you this is something more. Tell the man on the motorcycle to go back down the hill and to wait in the village, because when they leave that’s the road they’ll take. Call the other car, tell them where we are and have them wait somewhere on this road as backup. And we’ll drive into the visitor centre, park and then the two of you can buy tickets for the castle and follow Bronson and the woman wherever they go. Whatever they stop and look at, you stop and look at, and take pictures of it as well. They haven’t seen either of your faces, so you shouldn’t arouse any suspicion. You’ll just be another couple of tourists wandering around an ancient monument. I’ll stay in the car, for obvious reasons, and if they do anything that seems peculiar or out of character, call me immediately.’

  Less than five minutes later, their driver stopped the car on the edge of the parking area, as far away from the target vehicle as he could get, and he and Farooq stepped out of the Ford and strode across to the entrance to the visitor centre. Khaled remained in the car, an almost invisible shape sitting in the shadows of the back seat, but with all his attention focused on the visitor centre and the ruined castle that lay beyond it.

  Once they had identified this final clue, he thought that the desolate countryside they had driven through since entering Jordan would offer an unlimited number of places where they could conclude their business with the English couple in private and without interruption.

  Though following the trail to find the relic was still his first priority, Khaled was also keenly looking forward to attending to the two of them. Especially the woman.

  54

  Shobak Castle, Jordan

  Bronson and Angela bought two tickets and a slim guidebook, which explained what was known of the history of the place in multiple languages. The man who sold them the tickets told them in broken English that there were two guides conducting other people around the castle at that moment, and if they went up there straight away, they could probably tag on to the end of one of the tours.

  ‘I wonder how much of it was left when our mysterious mediaeval contact came here to carve his clue,’ Bronson mused as they walked down towards the castle.

  ‘That all depends on when he came. The place was built in 1115 and suffered a number of attacks that century and was finally captured in 1189. According to the guidebook, not much happened to it for the next couple of hundred years until the Mamluks decided it would be a useful strategic location for them to occupy, and they restored it during the fourteenth century.

  ‘My guess is that they probably left the castle within a hundred years or so, because their main focus and their power base was Egypt, not Jordan. Once they’d abandoned it, I don’t suppose it would have taken long for the local people to recognize that they had a massive supply of cut and shaped stone sitting up here on the top of the hill, just waiting to be carted off and used for other projects. It says here that there was once a large boundary wall surrounding the castle lower down the hill’ – Angela pointed over to the right – ‘about level with where we are now, in fact, and that’s completely disappeared. That would have been the first structure to be dismantled: I’ll bet that almost every house in the village at the bottom of the hill is built at least partly with stones that once formed the boundary wall and maybe the upper floors of the castle itself, because there’s virtually nothing left of them now.’

  ‘I just hope that the clue is still up here,’ Bronson said, ‘because if it’s on a stone that’s now a part of the wall of some village house, that’s the end of it.’

  ‘I don’t think you need worry. Both the clues we’ve found so far – the inscription and the letters and carving in the Western Wall Tunnel – were chiselled on to stones that were permanent features of the structures they were a part of. I’d imagine that this clue will be the same – on a foundation stone or something.’

  The road led quite steeply down to the bottom of the narrow valley that lay between the visitor centre and the castle itself, and then ascended just as sharply around the left-hand side of the natural hill upon which the fortification had been built.

  ‘This looks to me like the path of the original approach road,’ Bronson suggested, ‘because there are no gates anywhere in the outer wall that I’ve seen so far.’

  A couple of minutes later he was proved right, because the metalled road terminated in an open area that was more or less level and bounded on two sides by the walls of the castle. In the right-hand wall, close to where the two walls met, was what had clearly originally been the main entrance to the inner part of the fortification. It was a large stone gateway, closed by two heavy wooden doors, but it was immediately obvious to both Bronson and Angela that it was not substantial enough to have resisted a determined siege for any length of time.

  ‘The outer wall, the one that’s now vanished, would have been the first line of defence,’ Angela said. ‘The gateways in that would probably have been about twice the size of this one.’

  A heavily built but somewhat sad-looking Jordanian trader had set up a wide stall against the left-hand wall, and regarded the passing visitors with dark eyes from under a flat cap, his heavy black eyebrows complemented by a broad and impressive black moustache. They glanced briefly at the wares on offer, then ignored the trader’s eager blandishments and turned right to walk through the open door and into the castle.

  The exterior walls near the doorway appeared to be in good order, but when they stepped into the interior of the structure, that impression of solidity was immediately dispelled. It was at once apparent that the walls of the castle were in far better condition than what lay inside them. Most of the structures they saw
were incomplete and many were tumbledown.

  ‘This doesn’t look good,’ Bronson said, glancing round at the disarray that surrounded them. ‘I don’t know where we’d even start searching.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Angela replied, ‘but let’s at least try.’

  They’d arrived at the castle only a few minutes behind one of the organized tours, and over to their right they could see and hear the guide explaining, in broken but intelligible English, exactly what the members of his group were looking at. They moved up, over the rock-strewn surface, and stood at the back of the dozen or so people who were listening to the Jordanian.

  ‘We can probably learn a lot just by hearing what he has to say,’ Angela murmured. ‘My guess is that he’ll do a circuit of the castle. At the very least that should orient us so that we know which bits are which, and hopefully give us a few pointers about where we should start looking.’

  So they followed on, keeping within earshot of everything the guide said, and taking their turn to look in various small rooms within the castle and inspecting some of the fortifications that still formed part of the walls. These were generally speaking in good condition, no doubt because the stones that formed them were simply massive, in some cases well over three feet thick. Too massive, far too heavy and simply too inaccessible, in fact, to be attractive to any local Jordanian house-builder.

  But what they didn’t see was any obvious sign of what they were looking for. There were clearly not hundreds but thousands of stones making up the structure of the castle, and their only clue was the ‘62 down’ notation they’d deciphered. When they discussed it, they’d assumed that it might refer to a particular stone located, for example, as part of the sixty-second course of stones below the battlements. But as soon as they’d seen the castle, they’d realized that that wouldn’t work because most of the battlements had been torn down over the centuries.